And I Won't Measure Love From The Tears That Drip
by USAAuror
Summary: Ron is scared witless to face his wife after a recent incident. One Shot.


This is just a little one-shot that popped into my brain.

 **And I Won't Measure Love From The Tears That Drip**

Ron stared straight forward as he gripped the chair's armrest. He knew he had to face her but his bravery was failing him. Waiting had gone on for too long already but he still wished he could partake in some liquid courage. It would not be well received in this situation and he needed all the good karma he could get right now. There was no alcohol immediately on hand anyway. Thirty-two years of marriage had not made this any easier.

Resolving that he could delay no longer, Ron moved his shoulders forward and pushed down with his arms. He slowly rose, but with little effort. He kept his 56-year-old body in shape through Quidditch and dueling practice with Harry's Aurors. He used a cane now but his lack of speed was more indicative of his reluctance to confront his wife than his inability to ambulate. It was also a sign of his shame. What he had failed to do resulted in this current situation. Ron never wanted be the cause of her pain. Not like this. Thinking about it again struck him through the heart and made his steps falter. He stilled his forward motion and looked around. Gathering his thoughts to gain control of them, Ron willed himself to continue walking up to her. As he moved, he reflected on all the times his actions had hurt her. He reached all the way back to the troll incident, enumerating each one. Yet none of them compared to this one. He held onto his guilt, hoping beyond hope that his next actions could assuage it.

Thirty-two years. Raising two children, they never lost each other in the process. When Hugo went to Hogwarts, Hermione and Ron rekindled their early marriage romance. The first week was a second honeymoon, at home. Each day ended in a different room. Ron smiled inwardly at Rose's reaction when she was told, much later in life, how often the kitchen table acted as an impromptu coupling surface. They had settled into two different routines; one when the children were home and a different one during school time. When the children moved out to their own homes, the routine changed again. They purposely took time to do things together on a regular basis in order to stay connected, to remain close.

It was still a routine and some of the things that interrupted that routine were the source of conflict. Sometimes Hermione was at fault, and sometimes no one was at fault. Of course, there were also times when Ron was the cause. It was these times that flooded his brain now. They piled up to form one huge weight that bogged down his movement and threatened to induce a quick departure to anywhere but here. However, years as a father and husband had honed his sense of duty. Duty to his marriage, his children and his family kept him moving to meet her. He would not shirk, despite his fear.

He finally got up to her and looked down at her face. He beheld her closed eyes and remembered when they were open last. There was so much pain then; pain and betrayal along with some hope that what she knew had happened was not really true. The guilt and sadness overwhelmed him and, again, he almost bolted. Instead, he held himself and moved his eyes to her hair. Now shot with silver streaks in the brown, it remained as bushy to this day as back on the Hogwarts Express when he first set eyes on her. It lay splayed around her with not one stray hair covering her serene face. Ron's heart clenched at the sight and his breath stopped. She was more beautiful now than when he married her. He knew it was only his biased opinion, but that's what counts. Isn't it? He let out his lungful of air slowly and moved his gaze to the rest of her.

The scar on her neck from Bellatrix's knife was clearly visible. He'd always considered it a symbol of her strength. She was wearing a moderately low-cut top, showing off some cleavage. It was lilac. Seeing that released a flood of memories from Bill's wedding. He decided to pick through them knowing full well he was stalling the inevitable. The surprise on her face when he practically ordered her to dance. The smile when he grabbed her waist and her hand. The soft feel of her fingers entwined with his. She had let out a giggle when he twirled her but he'd hardly noticed as he watched her body in the close-fitting dress. Her laughter had held his attention while he lifted and dipped her to a fast-paced song. Then it had ended; the song and their dancing. Ron vividly remembered the sheen of perspiration at her collarbone and her heavy breaths from the exertion. With that, the present reasserted itself and he was looking at her lilac top again.

The reason he was standing over her filled his mind and his knees weakened again. Forcing his breathing to slow to help relieve the heaviness in his chest, Ron readied himself. He was barely remaining on his feet. It was a fight to resist the overwhelming urge to grab her hands, drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness. He knew that wouldn't have changed anything, so he began reaching with his right arm. He thought he would be able to finish until he caught sight of his trembling hand. That stopped his movement and destroyed his resolve.

Oh sweet Merlin, he was so, so sorry! He would give his very life for a time turner! He would violate every wizarding law to go back and prevent the pain he had allowed to happen. He refocused past his quaking arm to her face, the face of the woman that he had loved for so long. He knew what he must do to move forward but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He simply stood there and stared at her as the tears flowed down his face.

A whisper, "Dad?"

"Yes, Rosie?" Ron quietly answered.

"I know you blame yourself, but it wasn't your fault. She knows that."

"You didn't see the pain in her eyes, or the betrayal. I was in the middle of it. I can't do this."

"She was assassinated by her own assistant just because she was Minister. You tried to stop him. Dad, you have to close the lid, finish the ceremony."

"I-I was next to her; I couldn't….couldn't save her."

"I know."

"I can't do this. Please help me, Rosie."

"It would be my honor, Dad."


End file.
